The Hermit And The Man
by Warmaster Tzeentch
Summary: Kasen has always been considered odd for a hermit, and is most certainly not an Oni according to herself. Yet, this mysterious girl can't possibly be an Oni, she acts nothing like one. But what are the chances that she had met someone long ago, who showed her a new path in life? How could anyone manage to turn one of the most vicious Oni into a polite and (somewhat) gentle girl?


Disclaimer: I do not own Warhammer or Warhammer 40,000, and neither do I own Touhou Project. All of these belong to their respective owners.

A/N: You could call this a potential one-shot, or a potential full-fledged story if enough people want me to continue it.

Kasen barely resisted the urge to shudder as she felt the cold snow pile up on top of her. She knew that it was going to be cold today, but she couldn't manage to find anything that would cover her completely. So, she simply wore what she always wore. It was good enough to pass off as a hermit, but it was not good for any strong weather. Which she realized when she noticed the clouds, and then the first snowfall. It was simply too late for her to go back and find something a bit more comfortable, that would lead to Reimu asking questions.

If Reimu noticed her entering and exiting the barrier, then she would probably die from the panic that it would cause, or the questions that Reimu would want answered. What was she going to say, that she was meeting with the man who had cut off her arm? She couldn't say that; she might as well hang around a sign from her neck that read "Not a Youkai!". She was already betraying Reimu's trust by lying to her, but it was for the best. Gensokyo didn't need to know about what the outside world held, but perhaps it would be better for them if she told them the truth. They wouldn't believe her of course, almost all of them were so sure of their place in life. They couldn't grasp what they truly were, and how close they were to extermination.

Extermination, that word left a bitter taste in her mouth. But it was true, she remembered her first encounter with the man all too well. She was so close to being killed, and yet all the man had did was cut off one of her arms. It was humiliating, and was almost as bad as seeing her friends being killed. She was lucky enough to have survived the raid upon them, but perhaps it was because she always ate less than the others. She didn't know that they had survived, so she did what she thought was necessary. She fled from that man, and to this day she could remember that gaze in his eyes. And yet she knew that if the man so wished it, he could've finished her off. But yet he spared her, and when their eyes met as she fled, she noticed that he was not Japanese.

It was for a brief second, but the man before her looked too foreign to be from any part of Japan. His skin was a light tan, and his hair was far darker than most. But more importantly, the man before her radiated power. Not like the gods in Gensokyo, no this power felt warm and inviting, almost like a father. But mixed into that feeling was a combination of determination and loathing, all of which was directed at her. Then she felt something slash into her mind, and then she started to wonder as to what manner of being he was. But it would take her hundreds of years before she realized what exactly he was.

During the intermediate time, she began to calm down. Losing her arm was bad enough, but she had seen her friends killed right in front of her. So she had decided to try and settle down, and sort out her emotions. That led to her second encounter with the man. She was just thinking about killing a local noble's daughter for food, but was stopped when she felt the tip of a sword on her neck. She didn't even have to turn around to know who was holding the blade.

The man had tracked her down, but yet he had one again not killed her. She remembered that her mind had nearly broken when she realized that the man had managed to find her. She waited for him to finish his task, but yet he never did. Instead he put his hand around her neck, and spun her around.

She was not mistaken when she thought that the man was a foreigner. His features reminded her of nobles, with a certain air of refined elegance about them. His long near black hair reached down to his shoulders, and his eyes felt like they were staring into her very soul. Of course, she would later find out that he was indeed looking at her very soul. But at the time, she tried to break free of his grasp; hoping to run away. It was a cowardly move, but even she knew her limits. But no matter how much she struggled, she couldn't break free. She had the strength to move mountains, and yet she could barely move one of his fingers. It was that point he simply knocked her out, and dragged her away back to his camp.

When she awoke the next morning, she found herself staring at the morning sun. There was a small tent in the clearing, and in front of it was that man again. His gaze gave off no hint of acknowledgement, he was simply meditating. She didn't know why she stayed, yet for some reason she pretended to be asleep for just a bit longer. Of course, it was at that point the man finally acknowledged her presence. She felt his eyes staring at her prone form, and she forced herself up. Her head hurt, but she managed to get up and meet his gaze.

She tried charging at him, hoping to defeat him. At this point, Kasen was unable to think of anything other than trying to avenge her friends. It didn't matter if she died or not, she just wanted to satisfy her honor. Of course, that ended as well she should've expected. All in all, the fight was so pathetic that her fellow Oni would've mocked her. All he had to do was draw his short sword, and then she was back down on the ground. He hadn't even struck her with the sword, she was hit with the sword's hilt!

The cycle continued for a week, with her trying to attack the man, and the man defeating and knocking her out every single time. By the end of the week, she was too exhausted to continue. It was at point she realized that she was starving, and the only potential source of food for her kept defeating her. When she finally had no more energy to continue, he had done something that she was unable to comprehend at the time.

He had offered her a meal, nothing more than a simple bit of cooked venison. And yet she ate it greedily, without any care to check if it was poisoned. She was beyond starving, so why should she have cared? She would never admit it to herself, but she was always a bit of a glutton.

It was only after that she didn't attack him, perhaps willing to be around him now that she was somewhat full. While an Oni could eat and drink normal food, they needed to eat the flesh of humans to be truly full. And yet she found herself growing accustomed to the little routine between them. She would get up in the morning, eat whatever the man had made for her, and then usually just watch him for the rest of the day before falling asleep.

His mannerisms gave him away as a foreigner almost immediately, he did not pray to any gods at all for one thing. When she finally gathered the courage to speak with him about that, all he had done was smile sadly at her. He rarely spoke to her about anything, and yet she felt better than before. She hadn't drunk a single drop of sake for days, and she never felt her hunger get out of check. If she had done this beforehand, she would've gone mad from the whole thing, and yet she was clearly engaging in a lifestyle that would've destroyed her.

It was about two months into this weird routine that he gifted her with a rather large scroll, which he claimed that he had hand translated into Japanese. It was an odd concept to her, but she read it anyway. The names didn't make sense to her at the time, but she would eventually wonder who this _Marcus Aurelius_ was. And yet she read it all, and had come to understand a different viewpoint in life. Perhaps this man was attempting to show her that she could better use her life, but for what?

When she asked the man about it, he simply shook his head. He then did something that she didn't understand at the time, he took out a piece of meat for her. This time however, she could tell that the piece of meat was clearly human flesh, and yet he also brought out a piece of cooked venison. She felt the man stare at her, his gaze calculating. She sorely wanted to eat the flesh, to be full for just a bit. And yet, she refused that feeling. Instead she simply tore into the venison, leaving the flesh untouched. When she had finished, she noted that the man's gaze held a new form of emotion to her. His eyes were filled with a hint of approval.

After that day, she had spent a good twenty years with the man, learning all she could from him. The first question she had asked him was what his name was. It was most certainly a foreign name; she had never heard the name George before. And yet as time went on, she found herself acting more and more human. She was nicer to people that George introduced to her, and she was growing used to that feeling of emptiness within her. She knew that eating human flesh would end that hunger, but she didn't partake in it.

And yet as the years dragged on, she realized that there was something off about the man. He knew more about the gods than he let on, despite saying that he never offered them sacrifices or prayers. He spoke of three beings that existed, all of them malicious. He said that they were nearly done forming, and soon would come for the souls of all living beings. She had thought he was joking at the time, but something made her realize that he was not fooling around with her. She never asked him again, but for some reason she felt that there was some sort of weight upon her shoulders.

And then one day, she woke up to find that the man was gone. His tent was gone, and the only thing he had left for her was her Ibaraki box, and a large amount of slightly glowing bandages. She didn't know where he had found her relic, but it was a welcome sight to her. When she moved to pick up the bandages, they wrapped themselves around the stump of her former arm. And then she felt her arm again, it was weird to her. How could she have an arm and yet no flesh? But she endured it, and figured that drinking from the Ibaraki box would keep her arm in check. She hadn't seen him then for a few hundred years after that. But then one day she had met him when he was posing as a trader, and ever since then they tried to meet up with each other every hundred years or so.

As she felt another gust of cold wind hit her in the face, she felt herself shudder as she pressed on. He would just be a bit further away. She had to talk with him, and not even Yukari was going to get in her way!


End file.
